Yore Reflection
by Ms Western Ink
Summary: She didn't know what he saw when he looked at her and she was afraid to find out. Miyu x Larva.


**Yore Reflection**

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Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Princess Miyu or the characters thereof.

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The house was eerily silent. It was the mark of normalcy in the mansion up upon the abandoned hill. Miyu hadn't had visitors at her doorstep since Himiko. How long ago had that been, she wondered, as she stared at her reflection fiddling with her obi.

She stared at the blood red fabric about her waist. It had been chosen for its likeness to the crimson liquid. Her kimono was white. Pure white silk. There weren't enough vendors in modern Japan that catered to her expensive kimono choices. She held a certain distaste for the modern synthetic fabrics, too rough against her skin. With a frown, she turned away, padding toward the front door.

An extra red ribbon hung from her head, trailing down her back. Another was wound carefully about her ankle, high, higher, up around to her knee.

Tonight she was going to play.

She smiled as she reached her front door and slid it open. Anticipation clung to her skin like wet, sticky sand.

"Miyu?"

The silken voice of her long time companion stopped her. Larva did not enjoy Halloween as she did. He didn't enjoy any human holiday that she could discern. She turned back to glance at him. He hovered back near the doors, a bluish shadow and a floating mask in the dark.

Even cloaked he was beautiful.

Did he know how envious she was of him? To have such beauty?

"Are you going out?"

Out meant "hunting" to Larva. He did not hunt with her, it was something she was left to do in private. She had specifically requested it. He hadn't seemed to care at the time, he didn't now either, but he would usually ask.

"No," she murmured in reply. "Tonight it is Halloween. I want to see the costumes."

It wasn't all she wanted to do.

She wanted to play with the children, the humans. It was one of her simplest pleasures, Halloween. To lure people down alleys and vanish. To terrorize the community in the gentle haunting spirit of Halloween. It was a fabulous holiday.

"The children?" his soft voice was so melodic even when he was piercing her straight to the core.

Inside, she flinched.

He was too perceptive by half. He always had been. Her heart filled with a desperate pressure. It was that part, that deep still well where her love for him resided.

Her love for him could consume her. As much as she longed to throw her arms around him and proclaim it, she would not. She would never.

Larva was her moving painting. To just watch him brought her joy. To touch him… to love him as a woman loved a man, she was certain that pleasure would kill her.

She was… She turned away. There would be no thinking of that tonight. How did he manage to dim her good mood with so few words? Love, hate, sadness… her inabilities…

"Yes. The children," she answered.

"Do you wish-" he started and stopped.

He didn't need to continue. She'd known where his thoughts were heading the moment he mentioned children. It scared her the way he knew her so intimately and at the same time, it warmed her. It eased her burden that _someone_ knew her that well.

Larva… precious, lovely Larva…

She would never have children of her own, she knew. It was a great looming specter of regret. There was nothing she could do about it, but she wanted… longed… for so much.

Stepping out into the front yard, the doors began to slide closed behind her. Slowly… ever slowly.

"I sometimes wonder, Larva…" she whispered softly. The sound was almost lost in the wind blowing against the house. "… what you see when you look at me."

Taking another step forward, she stopped and turned back, pulling her arms behind her. Her eyes glowed like fiery lanterns in the dark, bright and gold.

"But… I don't think I ever want to know…"

Her voice just barely slipped through the crack left and then the wooden doors snapped closed shutting her out and him in.

Her regret…

Love.

Life.

Children.

Larva.

Did he know he was a regret too? She smiled sadly and began to walk toward town. The walk would do her good, she thought dismally. Perhaps she could reclaim her good mood.

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Miyu.

Miyu was a puzzle he had half solved. A puzzle that could never be completely solved. No, she was something closer to that. She was like the groves of his hands, small, winding, going everywhere and nowhere.

He thought of her fondly as part of himself that he didn't understand. Probably never would.

In some things, he understood enough.

Miyu was a pool of dark emotions.

Hatred.

Anger.

Sorrow.

Regret.

She was such a person that he wasn't required to say much at all. When he deemed to speak, she would stop and listen. Her, Miyu, Guardian, would turn those peerless eyes up at him and just listen.

She had done so for so long…that guileless face, that gaze of innocence.

For so long, he'd been blind to it. He wasn't sure if the deception had been purposeful on her part or if he had simply not seen it soon enough. Ages he'd traveled with her and she never changed. It was his mistake to assume… to assume she never changed when she had changed so much.

Halloween, this human holiday… It had become a favorite thing of hers. It was something she did to have fun when so few things brought her real joy. It had not occurred to him about the children. Miyu could not be a mother.

More than that… Miyu was too young to attract a lover. He'd not even had any indication she'd wanted one, not until he started watching her. Watching her for things it hadn't occurred to him to see before.

Miyu…

For so long…

His little girl hadn't been one in years. Had it been centuries yet? How old was she? The human habit of counting years escaped him.

Now…

Now when he watched…

When she spoke…

When she touched him…

The touches that had once been comfort now meant more. Far more than they ever had…No longer did she lay her head against him innocently… Now when she laid against him he thought of her warmth… the softness… the gentle perfume of her skin…

What made it worse, if "worse" was applicable, was that Miyu's thoughts seemed to mirror his own. He felt a certain kind of desperation in her touch when she clung to him… the way her body pressed to his… a longing… How long had it been since he was just her companion, her protector? How long had they been pressing up against one another when she turned into his arms just to feel the other's body? When had that happened?

Could it be his imagination?

He didn't think so.

Turning, he drifted father back into the recesses of Miyu's house and brooded. How to word it?

* * *

She licked her lips lazily flicking the last of the crimson from her mouth. It stuck to her tongue, the insides of her cheeks, her teeth, the roof of her mouth. While it hadn't been her goal to go out and feed when presented with food she saw no reason not to indulge. It was reckless of her to go hungry in any case, she knew what abstaining led to even if it had been ages since her body had forced her to feed it.

Now, retreating to her hill, she stopped in the yard and stared at her home. This old place… her frown deepened. Was Larva home? Was this home to him? What was his home in Europe like? Did he miss it?

She pushed her inquiries aside and pulled open the door. Another night, another dawn soon, another day. The sheer repetition of time taxed her sanity.

The doors closed behind her leaving her in a dark entryway. She didn't sense Larva close. Turning, she headed for her old room, for the comfort of her futon and her old, familiar things. As she padded down the hall she passed by her father's favorite room. It was still full of his paintings. She carefully dusted them every so often, unable to let his memory, her memory of him in that room, wither away.

Ahead of her, she saw her bedroom doors slide open and Larva's ivory colored mask. It was bright in the dark.

"Miyu?"

Had he taken refuge in her room? She couldn't imagine why he'd want to wallow in the room she hadn't changed at all since her youth. She still had stuffed animals in one corner of her closet and on rare occasions she got them out to look at them.

"Yes?"

She stopped and turned her head up toward him. He made no move to leave her doorway and allow her entrance. Was something bothering him?

"…"

For several long moments, he lingered, and then he floated inside. There was no other word, she thought, to describe the way he moved except to say he floated. She knew he had legs but… she shook her head at her silliness. Perhaps she'd had a bit too much fun scaring the local teens.

She slipped past him and walked toward her closet on the far side. Her old school uniform still hung in her closet. She pulled open the door and stared. Inside, she had hidden her vanity mirror. The floor length mirror had been a gift from her parents, she'd been so excited about it.

Years ago, one of the dark nights where she hated herself, she'd hidden the mirror in the closet.

She saw, more than felt, Larva approach. His form was dark and willowy in the glass. He moved like the silk she so adored. His ivory hands rose and she felt as he began to pull at her obi without prompting. Long ago he'd learned to tie and untie it.

He hadn't been adverse to helping her dress. Her, a child. He, who had known her since true childhood. She wondered if it bothered him now or if it was the same as it had always been?

The material loosed and she blinked away her thoughts absently reaching for the material. Instead of sliding into her fingers as she expected, she heard it hit the floor.

She blinked, again, startled. The gentle familiarity of routine abruptly shattered, sent her heart thudding in her chest as her bright eyes flickered up quickly toward the mirror, toward _him._

Before her gaze found his, his hands found _her._ Those white, white hands settled on her tiny waist. His fingers slid beneath the narrow ribbon holding her kimono closed. His nails were stark and red against the white fabric.

Despite the fact she always expected those white hands to be cold, they were hot.

Hot.

She could feel the heat of him through her kimono and slip beneath. She could feel the points of his nails, so close, so dangerous, it was a dangerous thrill that made her body flush in a way she didn't want him to see.

A glimmer of panic shot through her. He… he couldn't see her this way. Embarrassment and heat coalesced together and she tried to turn away from her mirror, out of his arms but he shifted suddenly, down, around her. His cloak was soft against her skin, smooth. His fingers shifted up, against the ribbon and the material resisted and then ripped. With graceful fingers, he plucked it away, sliding his hands possessively across her mid section until his arms were around her completely.

The impassive mask covering his face dropped and he lowered his head to press his cheek against her.

"Miyu…"

His eyes were so bloody red and intense. Like fire. Larva was so aptly made for her. For _her._

His arms alone now kept her outer kimono on her body. Her under-kimono was not immodest and he had seen her in it before, but the sheer stark reality of Larva holding her clothes _on_ and his taking them _off_ this way made her… tremble. There was nothing normal about the way he stared at her…. Nothing…

She was breathing so hard, so heavy. Did she have enough air?

"Larva…?"

His name remained a question in the air.

Open.

Curious.

Afraid.

Unanswered.

His hands moved away, sliding against her kimono, peeling open her outer garment. The ribbon on the inside was at her ankles before she could draw a breath and his hands, those pale, warm hands were against her raw skin.

Her knees weakened and those hands tightened.

She gasped and it was loud in the still silence of her home. Larva… touching…

Briefly those hands remained chastely pressed to her belly. Cradling her gently, touching…claiming? Miyu was confused, lost to sensation, to … to…

She opened her mouth to speak but found her mouth dry, empty of words. The taste of blood from earlier had vanished leaving her tongue like sand.. in the mirror, he stared at her. He watched… his eyes so intense, so bright. Only a sliver of bare skin was visible.

Her breasts were bound in the old way, with strips of cloth about her. They were not large enough to require it, but she felt more secure.

As her strength returned to her legs, she watched him dip his head. His gaze breaking from hers. The kimono was pulled back and it dipped low along her spine, catching at her elbows. His tongue peeked out and she froze watching as he lowered it to her skin.

Her breath escaped her, her body failed. Her knees struck the floor. His hands skimmed up her body as she fell, over her clothed breasts, her shoulders… Calmly, he knelt behind her, returning his hands to her, placing them again over her belly. He moved so slowly, as if he were afraid of scaring her. Again, his tongue slipped from his mouth and touched, barely flicked against her shoulder. She shook. Trembled violently as if the touch had burned her. The hands on her abdomen became active suddenly sliding down her thighs and then up again holding her and it distracted her from the second lap of his tongue. A bold, wide stroke up her neck. He breathed into her ear, hot…

"Miyu… look up."

Slowly, she turned her eyes toward the mirror, toward the sight of herself nearly naked in Larva's arms. She was cold and hot all over.

"You're not… " he trailed off thickly and seemed at a loss for words. "I don't know of any other way to say it."

He needed words, she brokenly thought, as one of those pale hands rose from her abdomen to tip her chin to the right and then back. Her lips parted and he neared.

He was…

The first gentle touch of his lips to hers was deceptive. A shaky, violent wave of heat rose in her and as if he sensed it, the pressure on her mouth became hard, demanding. He could kill her this way and it was how she wanted to die, with his mouth consuming her. Idly, she wondered if she could scorch herself to death in her own flame just from his touch?

When he pulled his lips from hers, she gasped. Her mouth felt swollen, her lips tender, wet, and she could still taste him. They panted quietly, their faces so close their noses almost touched. She thought, hard.

"… that's… okay, Larva… there are no words for _that._"

His mouth quirked the slightest bit into a smile and the inferno he'd lit inside her dimmed to a sort of pleasant warmth. He didn't need words, she understood. For as long as they were together, one part of her life would not be a regret. It would be almost perfect.

Really, it was as perfect as she needed it.

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AN: "Yore" carries the meaning, "time long past: days of yore." 


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